Promises
by Maralae
Summary: As they travel through the Deep Roads, both Carver and his sister Namarra begin to falter. Tainted by the darkness and their memories, the trip becomes a struggle to survive...


**Author's Notes: My first finished attempt at fanfiction! c: Please review. Constructive criticism is encouraged and more than welcome! **

All the light in the world had vanished all of a sudden, leaving Namarra in the middle of the darkness. There was no exit to be found, no hope – the world had turned into a nightmare-worthy mixture of reds and blacks, a little hell of lyrium and brimstone.

They just kept going forward for what seemed forever, and every room was exactly like the previous one. Neither of them spoke. There was something about the place that made the words fade away, turned into mere thoughts, nothing but incomplete ideas. The Deep Roads were a void, a black pit of death and destruction that was driving them insane, slowly but irrevocably.

Carver seemed particularly affected by the environment. He was limping and bleeding, and both his right arm and his face were starting to swell in a way that was almost unnatural. Anders had tried to heal him, had tried to make the purple shades that were starting to cover his skin disappear, but to no avail. Although neither of them said a word, they both knew that those weren't ordinary wounds. Anders was starting to doubt they _were_ wounds at all.

He didn't tell Namarra, though – it would just worry her, and she was already in a bad state as it was. She wasn't terribly hurt, but she looked pale and slightly distraught. She hadn't slept in days – the others had been able to rest, even if it had been only for a few hours, but she had remained awake, her wide open eyes staring into the air. The nightmares were haunting her waking dreams, preventing her from closing her eyes – she knew that in the darkness and the ogre that had killed Bethany would run towards her once again and again and again in an infinite loop, and she would only be able to stare in agony as the beast grabbed her little sister and slew her, taking her away forever.

They kept moving forward, and forward, but she was still behind, stuck in the past, always thinking of Bethany and of that blighted ogre. Namarra wished she could have killed it two, three, one hundred times – but deep inside she knew that no amount of lives that she took from it could replace the one it had taken from her. That ogre could have died one million times, for what it was worth, and Bethany would still be gone, far away from them and from this madness they were stuck in, away from the endless horde of darkspawn and the neverending maze of underground corridors bathed in blood and lyrium and darkness.

Sometimes Namarra didn't know whether she mourned Bethany or envied her.

The creature standing in front of them was huge, a glowing skeleton supported by enormous limbs made of stone. It spoke with a deep, booming voice that made the floor shake, and radiated power from every inch of its rocky body.

"Enough!" he said, and his words echoed through the vast chamber. "You have proven. I would not see these creatures harmed without need".

Namarra raised an eyebrow, slightly annoyed. "Oh, do forgive my manners. Next time I allow them to kill me, if that pleases you".

"They will not assault you further, not without my permission".

"What... what _are_ these things?" Varric asked, his brow furrowed. "They look like rock wraiths, but –"

"They hunger. The profane have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic that flows in this place. I am... a visitor".

"You seem to have a lot of control over them, for a visitor" Namarra pointed out.

"Their will is weak, and mine is strong. I came from the Fade, lured by their hunger. It is a feast that sustains me well. I would not see it end".

"A hunger demon" Anders muttered under his breath. "Be careful".

"I sense your desire. You seek to leave this place, but you will need my aid to do so".

"Aid from a demon? It appears we reached rock bottom already" Carver said, and folded his arms over his chest.

"We must not trust it, it's dangerous" the healer said, eyeing the creature warily.

"Look who's talking" the younger of the Hawkes grunted bitterly.

"Like I have _already_ said, I allowed a spirit into my body, not a _demon_!"

Carver was about to reply, when his sister interrupted them. "You two can kill each other later, preferably when death is NOT looming over us!"

"So, what do you say, human? Will you accept my aid?"

Namarra hesitated for a second. She knew the demon could be of use, but accepting his aid would leave them completely at his mercy, helpless and bound to a fickle creature of less than pure intentions. She did not mind deals with demons – but she was not foolish enough to take this one, much less in front of everybody.

"I'm afraid I must say no. Self-preservation, and all that".

The chamber's walls started to crack and the lyrium carved into them began to shine intensely as the demon roared in anger.

Everything was rather chaotic after that.

The fight ended as suddenly as it had started, and nobody knew who had killed the demon or how. It just lay there dead, the skeleton no longer glowing, its limbs looking significantly smaller.

"Does anyone need healing?" Anders asked, and his voice seemed too loud in the now deathly silent chamber.

Namarra shook her head slowly, still trying to catch her breath. She had been lucky – the fight had taken away most of her mana, but she was mostly unscathed. There were several scratches in her right hand, and both her left arm and her left cheek had cuts in them, but it was nothing she couldn't heal herself.

As she let the waves of healing magic wash over her, closing every wound and ending what little pain she had, she looked around, trying to see if everybody else was alright. Varric looked exhausted, and his face was bloody, but it was nothing serious - Anders would be able to heal it in a second, after he was done with himself. The healer had been injured in the battle, from what Namarra had seen, yet the mix of healing potions and magic had apparently worked marvelously, for he didn't seem terribly battered or in pain.

And Carver...

_Where_ was Carver?

She found herself panicking as she looked about the chamber, trying to find her little brother. _Oh Maker please, please tell me the demon didn't send him flying towards a wall or something._

_Please._

"Carver?" she called out.

Nobody answered.

"Carver!"

Silence. Anders and Varric looked at her, alarmed.

"Maker damn it, Carver! Where are you!"

After several minutes, she found him spread-eagled in front of a wall, covered with blood and grime and sweat. His eyes were closed and, from what Namarra could see, he wasn't breathing.

_Oh dear Maker._

Namarra kneeled beside him and started casting a healing spell. "Anders, I could use some help in here!" she shouted, trying to prevent herself from crying.

She didn't really know what happened after that. She could see Anders right next to her, and she could hear Varric saying "Wake up, Junior, wake up!" but all she really knew was that her eyes were blurry and her brother _did not breathe_, no matter what they did, and that there was too much blood, too much blood everywhere, blood covering Carver like a mantle or a cloak, and _oh sweet Maker his arm is broken, _and _oh sweet Maker he still doesn't breathe._

She didn't realise she was crying until much, much later, when Carver finally opened his eyes and let out a soft, nigh unexistant groan. She didn't realise she was holding him tight either until he said in a pained whisper, "You're choking me".

_You're choking me._ In that very moment, those three little words seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world to Namarra. They didn't just mean _you're choking me_, they meant _I'm alive_ and _I will live_ and _there is still hope._

"Damn it Carver, you scared me!"

He replied with a more audible groan. "I can't feel my legs..."

"Just lie still and we'll get you patched up"

A long moment of silence, occasionally broken by Carver's loud whines, ensued while Namarra and Anders attempted to heal him completely. Truth be told, Anders was doing most of the work – Namarra's healing spells had always been rather weak, and the fact that she was still crying and shaking while attempting to hold up a decent spell was not helping at all.

But nonetheless, she was happy. There was finally light, a hope to hold on to, and she would never, ever let it go.

Not after what had happened to Bethany.

When Carver finally said he could stand up, they decided to move on. He could not walk on his own, and Namarra had to help him – thus, they were walking rather slowly.

They walked through the already familiar looking long, cold, lyrium filled hallways, until something changed – the air started to be less stale, the temperature was a little warmer, and the darkness seemed to recede a bit. They were but small, unnoticeable things, but the group had been traveling through the same obscure, freezing corridors for what seemed an eternity, and they noticed the changes almost as soon as they appeared.

"I think we may be near an exit, Hawke" Varric said when they entered a particularly warm corridor.

"If we're lucky" Namarra replied absent-mindedly.

"Luck hasn't been our strong point up to now, has it?" Carver moaned.

"Oh, Maker's breath! Don't be so dramatic!"

"More like _realistic_, Marra"

They entered a long chamber with an oddly blueish hue. It was seemingly empty, and as warm as the corridor they had just left, with a slightly purer air.

"Well, it would seem this is the end of all this!" Namarra said happily.

She didn't know how true her words actually were.

As they walked through the chamber they saw piles of gold, and ancient ornate chests with jewels of the size of a human hand that any Orlesian lady would have killed for, and masterfully crafted swords that shone an eerie red light.

"What _is_ this place?" Namarra wondered, kneeling down to touch the hilt of one of the swords.

"This is the vault" Varric answered in a soft whisper. "The dwarves would have kept their-"

His voice was silenced by a loud noise – it sounded as if rocks were starting to fall down and crash against each other. Still crouched, Namarra looked back and what she saw left her speechless.

The creature behind her looked much like the hunger demon they had faced not long ago, but it was thrice as big, and its skeleton glew a bright red. There were lyrium marks on the rocky carcass – Namarra found herself being a little dizzy from the sheer arcane power the monster emanated.

"Oh, this can't be good" the dwarf said, reading Bianca.

"That's an understatement" the eldest Hawke replied, and grabbed her staff with a swift move.

The creature was powerful and strong and could hit them very, very hard. It wasn't long until they realised that they simply _weren't_ ready for this fight – their only warrior was waving his greatsword around clumsily and the other mage was certainly not battle-oriented. To make things even worse, most of Namarra's spells didn't seem to work on the rock wraith, and the only thing she could do was shoot fireballs at it and hope for the best.

They kept fighting for what seemed an eternity. Anders was doing his best to keep the four of them alive, but it was clear he wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. Carver was starting to falter, and he was not able to hold his own weight – he kept falling down once again and again and again.

Namarra's magic was starting to grow weaker as time passed.

Varric was starting to run out of stamina.

The damn rock wraith seemed completely uninjured.

Then suddenly the dwarf came to a realisation – the creature had one weak spot: its skeleton. If only they could reach it...

"Hawke!" he yelled out, trying to stand closer to her. "_Hawke!_"

"WHAT!" she replied, holding up her staff to create a barrier between them and the energy blasts of the rock wraith. "This better be important!"

"Aim at the skeleton! It's the only way you're going to hurt it!"

She didn't answer, but she nodded in acknowledgement, and lowered her staff a little. Varric was right – for the first time in for what had seemed ages, the rock wraith started to howl in pain and weaken noticeably.

What happened next could only be called _luck._ An excellently aimed arrow by Varric made the monster back down, badly hurt, and Namarra took advantage of the situation by firing a particularly strong spell right at the core of the wraith.

And it was finally over.

"Carver...?"

Namarra approached her brother silently. He was kneeling down, breathing with difficulty, and bleeding in a way that she had thought was physically impossible.

"I... could use... some healing..." he groaned.

"Carver... your... your skin..."

He simply looked at her through bloodshot eyes.

"This is the corruption" he said, and it sounded like an apology.

"It is. I'm sorry" Anders said quietly, kneeling beside him.

The world started to spin and fade.

_The Witch of the Wilds was standing next to Aveline, who caressed Wesley's cheek with a trembling hand. Namarra was still stunned, cradling Bethany's dead body as she sobbed silently, whispering words that not even she could understand – words of mourning and loss and promise._

_The ogre lay dead a few feet away from them and the Witch of the Wilds was saying she was sorry, but Namarra didn't really know why. Sorry for Wesley, for Bethany, for the life they all had led? Aveline was crying, too, but it could have been her, her crying and crying for the sister she had loved and lost._

_There was no cure to the corruption, only to become a Grey Warden, the Witch had said. Somebody replied they all had died at Ostagar. _

_Did anyone_care _about the Grey Wardens? Namarra knew she didn't. _

"The cure? There is no cure. Only to become a Grey Warden" Anders answered to a question nobody had posed. Or maybe they had – Namarra wasn't listening.

_Not all of them died at Ostagar, the Witch had said. But it did not matter. Wesley was corrupted and __it was too late for him._

_For him and for Bethany._

"It's not too late... it can't be too late!" Namarra yelled, punching the floor.

"The corruption –"

"My brother! Is not! CORRUPTED!" she screamed.

"There is a way..."

_There was a way but not for him._

_Aveline held the knife in her hands, and the tears ran down her cheeks like a waterfall. _

_"He's your husband, Aveline. I can't decide his fate"_

_Had Namarra said that? She no longer knew. Everything was so strange._

"... the Grey Wardens..."

"He doesn't need to join them because he's not corrupted! These are mere bruises!"

_Wesley's skin was acquiring a purple tone and his eyes were now white and lacked any pupils._

"They aren't! If we look for the Grey Wardens, we can-!"

"HE'S FINE!"

Carver let out a small cry of pain. "Namarra..."

"You won't die and you are not corrupted! Do you hear me! I'll get you out of here because you are not corrupted!"

_The blood flew from his lips and he raised his hand in one last, weak motion as Aveline plunged the knife through his flesh._

"Please..."

"You are just seeing things! You'll be... you are fine!"

Carver had more and more difficulty breathing with each passing moment.

_And soon Wesley was no longer._

"I promised Mother I would get you out of here, and I will, brother. I _will_".

_Bethany... She had promised Bethany they would get out of Lothering together, that they would survive the Blight._

_Promises have strength. They bind you down. They enslave you. _

_She promised herself she would never make a promise again._

"Sister..."

"You'll be fine, damn it! I'll help you find peace...!"

Carver's skin had acquired a purple tone and his eyes were starting to whiten.

_She couldn't keep that promise._

"It's the end"

"It's not the end!"

_The ogre ran towards them again and again and again killing Bethany until the end of times._

_But it was never the end._

His eyes no longer had pupils.

"We have to..."

_The corruption is killing him, the Witch had told Aveline._

"Namarra...?"

_"... I can't decide his fate"_

_She nodded_

slightly as she held Carver's

_hand, raised slightly to touch her cheek, and she_

grabbed the cruel iron

_plunged the knife through his_

flesh and he smiled just a little.

_"Thank you..."_

The place was deathly silent

_the ogre ran towards them, grabbing Bethany and crushing her like a__ small branch_

and the blood of her blood was spilled all over her hands

_as she plunged the knife through the_

chest of the one she had loved and lost.

It was the end of all.

_"Without an end, there can be no peace__" the Witch had said, and her words were comforting, and she comforted_

herself thinking that, finally, he had found peace.

Not all was lost.

Not all her promises were broken.

_And she finally moved __on._


End file.
